Now What

Zoë picks my brain all the time. She can get pretty deep when she is going after something, just like a couple of weeks ago when she was poking around for the meaning of life while I was checking her thick mane for lice. And just like that day, I often can’t help but fail her miserably by providing her with nothing but more questions. But I always give it my best shot or at least suggest to Google a couple of key words!

The other day, after another marathon of ‘why is that?’ her big eyes suddenly began to beam at me and her face broke out in a wide smile (I love it when I see her like that) and she says: “Mama, I really like this when small questions lead to big ones. I love talking to you.”

You’ve done it, kiddo, you kill me.

Mr. Right

When we give the ‘yes’ word, it means we are actually going to start it all over again. That thing that our parents did, that we were born into, and that surrounded us in the most impressionable years of our lives and of which, almost unnoticeably, we have become a complete reflection.

By this I don’t mean a carbon copy but rather a complementary version that made it possible for us to live comfortably in the environment that our parents had created.

We may not realize it, or we may not want to admit it, but when we start our lives as young adults we carry a lot of baggage. In some cases the baggage may be lighter than in others, however, it still is baggage and, mind you, ‘my parents never fought’ is pretty heavy baggage, if you ask me.

Don’t get me wrong, though, I am not headed in the direction of blame-it-on-the-old-folks. They did the best they could. Now it is up to us to give it a try. In fact, after years of working on my own glitches I have very little patience with finger pointers.



Most of that considerable investment in time and energy started within a few years of married-life.

Fourteen years ago, I married ‘Mr. Nice’ also known as ‘No. 1 for being stuck in a broom closet with.’ I married Matt. He was one of the cool kids: smart, good-looking, and… ‘nice.’

We met when we were both studying abroad at a sleepy European university and I was drawn towards him because he looked familiar and read familiar stuff. But the million dollar question is: Why did I end up marrying him?

And here lies the key to all the flee-bitten baggage that’s stored away in the basement of our psyche.



In a way, when we marry ‘Mr. Right’ we set ourselves up to re-live our childhood – only this time we have more of a say in it. The question is: Will we be brave enough to use that power effectively?

So, let’s say, we all go ahead and marry our moms’ and dads’ newer editions, often without realizing it, because it ‘feels right.’

The trouble then starts when we ourselves begin to act like our personal role models. But the real killer is when the kid in us is added into the equation: That whimpering, whining creature that quivered with existential fear every time mom frowned or dad didn’t want to share his fries.

That fear can become quite over-powering and make us say and do the most irrational things. I, for instance, throw full fledged tantrums and generously share my large stock of multilingual expletives. I am working on that. Matt, on the other hand, recedes into a catatonic all-is-good-state, when it really isn’t.

Admittedly, both are not very mature reactions but childhood trauma conditioning, as I call it (and there always is trauma – real or perceived), is a powerful factor in molding everyone’s response to fear.

And that auto-response is hard to control because it becomes second nature. It’s what we keep doing over and over again when we feel beleaguered whether it’s over-eating, over-spending, over-cleaning, or simply not-listening, complaining, finding fault and playing the martyr. It may feel ‘right’ for a moment (because we have done it forever) but it will ultimately end up getting us into trouble in that most intimate relationship of all.


What’s even harder to get a grip on, however, are the underlying fears themselves – most of which are as irrational as the responses we have come up with to counter them.

They are hard to pinpoint and some of them may go way back. But whatever it takes to face them, trust me, knowing where to start feels a lot better than being stuck in some auto-response mode and, therefore, re-living the same frustrating scenes over and over again.

Yet, many of us choose to just do that, anyway. Instead of pulling in their indexes and blaming whoever is available, or otherwise opening their eyes to face the challenge, they choose to remain stuck in an uncomfortable but familiar mess like a fly floating in a glass of warm coke.

Here is the simple truth: Marriage is a real bitch because it won’t be sound or good unless the demons that are snoring away in some convenient corner are woken up and kicked in the rear.

Buy Me

The amount of nonsense products out there amazes me. Not only are they being produced, they are being sold as well: disposable mops, micro fiber dust rags, individually wrapped bath soaps, snack size anything.

Why create a market for something that is either useless, or breaks easily, and generally uses up valuable human and natural resources – apart from adding to the mountains of garbage? Somebody must be getting rich (or trying to at least) because otherwise all that stuff wouldn’t exist.

Actually product ideas are born every minute. They usually don’t require a great deal of genius. All it takes is a ‘visionary,’ someone who thinks their idea is going to make it big.

Quite often these products are being launched, backed up by a simple business plan, and the requisite financing. The rest is relatively easy thanks to low-wage developing countries with non-existent environmental and/or labor regulations, eager sub-contractors, and a “whoopee” pro-business environment that seems to be the Mantra of the global economy.

After all, everyone benefits when something is produced, right? The great inventor, all the different raw material suppliers, designers, consultants, the transportation and wrapping industries, port workers, assembly line workers, wholesalers, retailers, store clerks, the investors, the CEOs and, ah yes, the consumer.

That’s me. The guileless consumer, forking through stores like a kid with an Easter basket. And along with me there are millions, all looking, searching, scrutinizing and, more often than not and for no apparent reason, acquiring these products: Ever bigger barbecue grills, lawn-mowers, and TV sets; whimsical lamp shades, picture frames, greeting cards, and sofa pillows; bright colored plastic toys, hand bags, and holiday galore all of which will need to be eventually, dusted, stored, fixed, and/or replaced. And almost all of which is completely superfluous and environmentally unfriendly.

Going into a store generally leaves me baffled. Instead of going in and coming out within fifteen minutes, I end up pushing an over-sized shopping cart through endless aisles, rows, and shelves of products in every variation of shape and color that I do not need.

Quite often I eventually exit the store with stuff I didn’t come buy but that was ‘on sale’ or ‘sort of neat’ in order to attenuate my growing feeling of frustration at not finding what I came for in the beginning: Nothing cute, nothing special, nothing neat, just a cloth rag.

But that's the idea isn't it...?

Monkey Menu

Ah yes, I forgot, monkeys eat lice and what else are we but mutant mokeys? (Thanks for the insightful comment on 'Deep'!)
Damn, all that good protein gone to waste thanks to tree tea oil, the Lice Meister comb, and my compulsive efficiency.
Imagine all the tasty treats we will never know: Lice and watercress sandwich, breaded lice sauteed and served with a cranberry reduction, or simply delicious lice rice. But then, never say never, right?

I Want My Friend

To tell me when I am wrong

To laugh at me when I am mad

And give me time when I am lost

I want my friend to dance with me

And find the stars at night

To rant and rave when time has come

And make up plans to save the world

I want my friend to stay with me

When times will make us part

For what is friendship of that kind

If it weren’t built to last

Lucky If You've Got it

For a long time it was just the five of us. When Matt and I married – two of the five – nothing really changed – even when we moved away to Washington, DC.

While we lived abroad, we made sure that we saw each other, no matter how much water or road was between us. We all went on trips together, and we had a great time just hanging out flying kites.

That stayed the same even after Zoë was born – and raised to love kites. Somehow along the road the five of us formed an amazing bond: Strong, loving, caring, forgiving.

Over the years, as Matt and I moved from country to country, I came to realize how lucky we are. Many people who know me and who have met one or the other of our friends readily agree: It is a really special thing we’ve got going.

When Zoë was little, our house was rarely empty. When she was just four months old and Matt and I were out cold with a raging fever of 104F, they took over. There was a feeding schedule up on the wall, the poop was under control, and someone stayed with us around the clock. Every time we or anyone else moved, Marc bought a ticket and a grabbed a hammer to help out.

And throughout the years, as we all hit one or the other rough spot, more kids were born, boy friends became husbands and sometimes exes, we always knew whom we could call upon – at any time.

It’s a great thing. I wish it were more common.

Driving the Kids

I no longer do that. And I sure hope I’ll never have to it again. What a waste of time.

However, if we choose to live in remote locations, far enough out so that we can afford to secure an acre of land, maybe we owe it to our kids: Driving them to where they really want to be.

But then, maybe we owe it to our kids not to chew up the countryside and instead live in cluster developments, also known as towns, that leave the surrounding fields and woods intact and not pocked with mailboxes and scared by dirt roads in every direction.

Come to think about it, towns are a really great idea, and so far they have done a fine job for humanity. What makes them so enjoyable in part is that everything in them is within walking distance, whether you have to mail a letter, need a quick make-over, or want to sink some money into ice cream

If I wanted to I could get a reasonably sophisticated henna tattoo, check out the latest Carl Hiaasen, and slurp a second-to-none mountain moose blizzard all within less then an hour.

And if I decided to make my way over to the railway station, I could still be on my way to the rest of the world that same afternoon...for a wider selection of ice cream.

But not only are towns a lot of fun they are also a lot healthier, at least for me, my children, their friends, the trees, and everyone who breathes.

Plus, with all that time one saves on NOT driving the kids around one can…let’s see…for instance give that blog a spiffy make-over, if nothing else comes to mind.

Deep

So while nit picking Zoë’s thick mane she asked me why there are lice in this world:

Are they food? No. Is anyone happy to have them move in? No. Do they contribute anything but pain and suffering to this world? And again, the answer is ‘no.’

Zoë then fell silent for a moment while I closed in on another two or three microscopic lice eggs. I thought the ponderings on lice and their likes were over when she looked up again and got real deep: “What are humans good for, Mom?”

Oh, and by the way...

be sure to set an alarm clock when sterilizing the combs at night.

Lice...

If you’ve got them take a deep breath. It happens just like bad coffee.

We realized we had them the day after my birthday which was lucky because on my birthday I was still running a fever from a virus I had caught earlier that week and was virtually holding on by only a thin broken nail.

But, alas, moms are known to have great rebounding ability. Within less than 24 hours I was ready to take on the next challenge: LICE ON MY ENTIRE FAMILY – INCLUDING MYSELF.

Whom am I trying to kid here? I was not ready. Not one bit.

Fred, my father-in-law, was the harbinger of bad luck and he did so renouncing all attempts at delicacy and opting instead for one hundred percent of humor. He chose well.

Within minutes the girls where up in the maple tree behind the island cabin where they always spend the month of September suspended, high and far above the earthly matters, discussing their favorite haircuts.

It was my ungrateful job then later to inform them that there wouldn’t be any haircuts (at least none involving a professional) before all lice would be gone (lame mom as usual).

My feverish headache was back full blast at night as I tried to figure out the next steps: To bag or not to bag, chemical bomb or oily balm, quarantine yes or no - and if so to what extent - and, also, whom had we been in contact with and had to be informed.

To avoid the list from reaching an absurd length, I decided to help myself to a night cap and laid my prickly head to rest.

We are on day 10 now. Still combing twice a day and keeping with a strict routine of washing all bedding and clothing daily. Zoë and I are looking pretty good and Lea is in the single digits on the nit count. We ended up opting for the natural oil treatment and decided not to bag and instead just store all blankets, comforters, clothes, cushions, stuffed animals (luckily we live on 900 square feet so the amount of stuff is limited). It’s still a shit load of work though.

To this day I have no idea how we got lice, being a homeschooling family on vacation. Maybe it was a good-bye present from Costa Rica. After all, there were an insane amount of warm embraces, slumbery sleep overs and trading of cuddly goods that took place in the last days preceding our departure.

But then, maybe we caught them on the plane ride over here. Why on earth would they have fabric on the passenger seats, anyway? Just imagine the chances of catching something – lice, fleas, bad breath…

Lice have been around for an awfully long time. People probably used to wear hats, hoods, and head scarves to protect themselves from infestation. The good old days.

How on earth, however, did they deal with lice once they got them? I can’t imagine doing it without a healthy supply of the one and only LiceMeister comb, a powerful washer/dryer, and a vacuum. How did they get rid of them – just shaking them off?

But then, they must not have done that great a job, because the critters are still around, traveling the friendly skies, hanging out on the metro, and enjoying the theater…


Anyway, if you’ve got them, this is what you do:

Take a day to get organized.

The lice have to be killed. Most pesticides that can be purchased at drug-stores are not only potentially harmful they also are common to fail (even the cdc webpage admits that). So, I suggest that you consider checking out non-toxic remedies. There are lots of websites. We went with aromacaring.co.uk. Anyway, what will get rid of lice and nits in the end is a steady routine of combing and handpicking.

Store comforters (that you don’t want to wash daily), pillows and items such as chair cushions, stuffed animals, and anything else covered in material for two weeks away from human contact.

Select clothes that can be easily washed and dried for the next ten days to wear and put away all other.

Buy the ingredients for the ‘magic potion’ you decide to go with and make sure you have enough shower caps for two treatments, i.e. two per person. Buy metal lice combs (one per person) and also order LiceMeister combs at headlice.org since they are the best. With a little luck they’ll be there within three to four days.

Wash and tumble dry hot every piece of clothing that may have come in contact with head lice in the past two days.

Instruct everyone in the house not to share towels, bedding, clothing and also limit close contact.

Mix the necessary amount of magic potion and start spreading and rubbing it into the hair. Cover hair with a shower cap keep it on over night.

Vacuum the entire house and any piece of cushion that cannot be stored away (including car seats).

Day ONE (after the treatment):

Strip beds that may have come in contact with lice. Wash and tumble dry hot for at least 30 minutes.

Wash hair and use conditioner.

Get a glass of water, mix in five tablespoons of vinegar and some drops of tea tree oil, grab the combs, and get ready. Start combing in small section from front to back (especially in the back and behind the ears) and rinse off the comb in the glass of water after each stroke. Have a paper towel handy as well. The harvest of (hopefully dead) lice and nits in the first days should be abundant.

Boil the combs for five minutes after each use.

Repeat combing at night.

Make beds and then proceed to wash and tumble dry hot all clothes that were worn that day.

Vacuum where lice may have dropped during the day.

Day TWO through SEVEN:

Strip bed(s) and comb twice a day. Hand-pick nits once the comb doesn’t pick up any anymore. There are always some eggs left – trust me. They all have got to go because otherwise sooner or later (i.e. within three weeks) the lice will be back. It only takes one egg to hatch…Also keep on washing all clothes at night and reinforce the no-chance-for-lice rules. Vacuum where necessary.

Day EIGHT:
At night repeat the oil treatment. Use a comb to make sure the oil gets everywhere. Use shower caps overnight. Wash and tumble dry etc.

Day NINE:
Strip bed(s) and wash hair using conditioner. Comb/hand-pick taking your time. You may find dead lice and nymphs (smaller lice-to-be). Hopefully, they all are dead by now.

Day TEN through FOURTEEN:
Comb daily checking for any nits. If none are found by day fourteen, the nightmare is over.

Day FIFTEEN
Move to paradise and lay off washing clothes for the rest of your life. That, or help yourself to a sufficient amount of Ben&Jerry’s and get the comforters out of storage. You deserve a good night’s sleep...!)

AUUGHHH !!

I am battling mice, lice, and a shitwit virus right now. Wish me luck, I need it.